


Did You Miss Me?

by Asreoniplier (AsreonInfusion)



Category: Video Blogging RPF, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Vampire, BDSM, Blood Drinking, Dom/sub, Emotional Manipulation, Monster!Dark, Morning Sex, Negative Mental Attitude, Other, Oviposition, Rape/Non-con Elements, Spanking, Tentacle Dick, Unhealthy Relationships, Verbal Abuse, Wing Kink, Worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2019-07-16 09:35:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 16,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16083383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsreonInfusion/pseuds/Asreoniplier
Summary: A collection for various Darkiplier/Reader fics that I've written, but aren't long enough to bother posting as separate stories. Each chapter is a stand-alone oneshot, and the reader is gender neutral/no pronouns mentioned unless otherwise specified.Ch.1: In which Dark is a vampire who regularly feeds from the reader.Ch.2: The sad reality of feeling more welcome with Dark than around any other actual people.Ch.3: A request fic in which Dark spanks the reader for misbehevaing.Ch.4: Angst minific, in which Dark doesn't consider the reader worth his time.Ch.5: Returning to the theatre from ADWM to seek Dark out.Ch.6: [NONCON TW] Dark doesn't take kindly to you trying to leave him.Ch.7: Dark uses the reader to take his anger out on, but it's fine 'cause that's the sort of agreement they have.Ch.8: It isn't easy to realise you're in love with a monster.Ch.9: Dark can steal people's souls by kissing them.Ch.10: Monster form Dark.Ch.11: In which Dark has a tentacle dick and oviposition occurs, because reasons.Ch.12: Sleepy morning sex.Ch.13: Wing kink.Ch.14: More vampire Dark, 'cause I'm like that.Ch.15: Worship Him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey. Hi. It's me. With more of... this. I don't know how I ended up with so many of these??? I keep saying to myself, okay, we gotta write some more Danti stuff, I adore that ship and need more fic or it, or maybe it's time to dip back into the original fandom and write some more stuff for the ships there-- and yet, no. The brain wants those other things, but the inspiration is just like. _No. More reader inserts._
> 
> So, look. If you're staring at me wondering what the fuck is going on, believe me, I'm doing the same lol.
> 
> But let's begin, shall we?
> 
> This first fic is just pure self-indulgence because, goddamnit, I was in the mood to write some gothic melodrama bullshit, and I'm eternally weak for vampires. Little bit angsty because Dark's an asshole and an absolute user - this will be a running theme in all of these fics. The degree of Dark's abusiveness will vary, but I'm very unlikely to ever write him having a relationship with the reader that isn't unhealthy or manipulative to at least some degree. It is Dark, after all, lol.

You knew this was coming. Of course you knew. No matter how much you tried to convince yourself otherwise – maybe it’ll be different this time, maybe Dark just wants to enjoy your company – your little ‘dates’ always ended up like this.

You’d agreed to take the long route home, meandering through the park as he walked you back. It was a nice night for it. Still warm, but not uncomfortably so like during the day, the night sky clear and starless. Too much light pollution for that. But the moon was visible, almost full, and there was more than enough light to see your way.

You’d almost come to like the night better, having spent as much time as you have with Dark.

It was almost romantic. It could have been. Maybe you  _wanted_  it to be. Dark’s presence beside you, radiating a casual power and confidence even when he didn’t need to try and impress anyone. His hand brushing against yours, your fingers twining together and his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

He smiles at you; a little too wide, teeth a little too obvious. There’s a darkness in his eyes, but there always is.

Maybe it’ll be different this time.

Your footsteps falter as he leads you away from the path, to a secluded alcove in the shadow of the trees. Guiding you to sit down with gentle, insistent touches.

“Dark,” you begin, voice uncertain.

You know what he wants. And you’re not sure you want it. You said you weren’t going to do this again; but then, you’re still here anyway.

You knew this was coming.

His touch grows firmer, more possessive as his hands find your waist and slide up your sides, and your breath hitches. “Will you indulge me, darling?” he asks, a low, irresistible purr.

You squirm in his grip. Such a pathetic little attempt at fighting back. “I still have bruises from last time…” you try to protest.

God, he’s a good actor. You could swear he means it when he looks so damn apologetic. Even after all this time, it still makes you falter. But if he’s sincerely sorry, he wouldn’t keep doing it. Would he? You can’t make sense of anything anymore.

“I won’t hurt you,” he promises.

And at first, that had been true. Your first few dates had been blissful, when he’d trusted you enough to reveal his true nature to you. You’d felt so  _special_. Now you just feel like a fool.

It had been a thrill as first, letting him feed from you. Feeling his fangs sink into your throat, so damn tenderly, sensually, and it had made your face heat up as you clung to him. But then it became every single date; it stopped feeling like he wanted to see  _you_ , and more like he was just going through the motions to get a free meal at the end of the night. Taking more and more of your blood until it left you dizzy and drained. Holding you down when you tried to push him away, not stopping when you said enough. Leaving bruises around your wrists and deep, aching puncture wounds on your throat, utterly careless of how much they stung.

Some nights you ended up screaming at him to stop, terrified that one day he would cross the line and take too much for you to recover.

He never stopped until he was finished.

It was the same old song and dance, over and over and fucking over. You’d get mad at him – if you even had the strength to do that much – and swear you weren’t going to agree to another date. And he’d act so apologetic and charming, trying to win you back with romantic gestures and soft, tender touches that felt so sincere you could almost believe he cared. You thought he did, once upon a time. You honestly thought…

You’re so fucking stupid. It makes your head and your heart ache.

You close your eyes. You can’t bear to look at him. He’s so fucking perfect, in that suit that fits just right on his gorgeous form, handsome face with dark eyes only emphasised by the kohl around them. He looks like some kind of fallen angel. You don’t want to believe he’s a monster.

So you take a shuddering breath as his fingers run up your spine and round to undo the buttons of your top – you had to pick one that has a high neck, covering the mottled purple marks that still haven’t quite healed over.

Maybe it’ll be different this time.

He presses you back against the bench, one arm around your waist while his other hand cups your face and tilts your jaw back, exposing your throat. You hate than even after all this time, even knowing what’s coming, it still makes your pulse quicken and your face flush.

“Dark—” you whimper. His grip keeps tightening, until it’s starting to hurt, and you can’t even squirm away from him.

His only response is a low growl, and you gasp as his nails dig into your skin in warning.

His teeth graze against the fragile skin of your throat, fangs exposed and tracing along your veins. You raise your hands and clutch at his shoulders; you only have a split second to brace yourself before he bites down.

You moan. It never hurts too much at first, it just… stings. Aches in a way that makes your head spin and your knees feel weak. You can feel the warmth of your own blood welling up, the warmth of his lips pressed against your skin, the curl of his tongue against the wounds as he drinks from you.

This is what keeps you coming back. This moment when it feels so good, when you love how it feels to be held by him and fed from. Needed. Wanted.

You shiver in his embrace, soft noises of pleasure escaping from your lips. Tilting your head, allowing him better access.

Your fingers curl into his suit, grip tightening as his fangs dig in deeper. Starting to hurt. The blood is flowing freely now, spilling out in a heavy rush. You can feel in running down your neck, over your collarbones, soaking into your shirt. And where his mouth is pressed against you, feeding hungrily, like he could just devour you completely.

“Dark…” you say in warning. It’s a heady sensation, but… too much. Your breathing is starting to get too quick, fear seeping into your veins and twisting like a knife in your gut. There’s… there’s a lot of blood, and he’s not stopping, but honestly, what the fuck did you even expect? “Dark! It hurts…”

His fangs are too deep, carving agonising puncture wounds into you. God, why do you ever think it’s going to be any different?

“Please stop, Dark, that’s enough—”

Your words only anger him, and he shoves you back until you’re painfully pinned against the stone bench, held in place by the weight of his body pressed up against you. And normally you’d kind of like that, but the thrill is starting to turn sickening.

“Nn-no, you said you wouldn’t— _Dark, stop._ ”

It’s such a fucking mess. There’s so much blood and it scares you. One day he’s going to go too far, one day you’re not going to make it through. You don’t want it to be this time.

You try to shove at him, but he’s so much stronger than you. You can’t even shift him. But you put everything you have behind it, and apparently that’s enough to get his attention.

He draws back, eyes feral with hunger and fangs dripping with your blood, a look of fury on his face. Fuck. You shouldn’t have pushed so hard, you—

You cry out as he backhands you across the face, equal parts surprise and pain. He’s never hit you like that before, and it makes tears spring to your eyes. You crumple to the side, and then he’s on top of you again, biting down hard enough in retribution that it makes you scream.

You want to apologise, maybe to beg for his forgiveness, but you don’t have the words. Your head is spinning too much, and you find yourself starting to go limp in his hold. The pain feels distant now, sensation a vague and nebulous thing that won’t quite sync with your ephemeral thoughts.

You close your eyes and moan, giving in to him completely.

The next thing you’re aware of in Dark murmuring softly to you. He’s still holding you, but the embrace is loose now. Comforting. Your throat aches fiercely, wounds pulsing with white-hot pain.

“There, darling. You’re safe, you’re fine.”

It’s not fine. It’s never fucking fine, and he—he  _slapped_ you, but you’re too weak to protest the matter. You don’t have the strength to be angry.

Your mouth feels far too dry, voice raspy. “You said you wouldn’t,” you accuse.

“I’m sorry,” Dark says, so smoothly and perfectly, that tone that makes you just want to give in and trust him no matter what. “I’m so sorry. Perhaps I got carried away…”

Except the sadistic satisfaction in his eyes doesn’t match his apology at all, and it’s like this every time. Every goddamn time. You can’t—you can’t keep doing this, one day he’s going to drain you dry and you don’t even know if he’ll care when he does, and that  _hurts_.

He kisses you tenderly, his lips tasting of the copper tang of your own blood. “You know I didn’t mean it, don’t you, pet?”

“Please, just…” You’re too tired to fight it. It feels so nice when he kisses you, and you let yourself sink into his hold, trembling. “Just take me home,” you sigh.

You wish you could swear you’re not going to let him use you like that again, but you’re… you’re  _afraid_ of him, afraid of what will happen if you say no.

He scoops you up – you’re not walking anywhere by yourself, not after that – and you let your head loll against his chest. He’s always so gentle with you  _afterwards_ , as if that makes up for it. Only you’re weak enough that it kind of does. You want so badly to believe he cares, because once upon a time you honestly  _did_  believe that.

The realisation that he doesn’t is more painful than anything else he could ever do to you.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** Unhealthy, emotionally abusive/manipulative relationship; talk of social rejection/exclusion; exceptionally brief mention (like, a single throwaway sentence that happens to imply some stuff) of some BDSM aspects being involved in the relationship.

You can tell Dark is here the moment you walk in. There’s a pressure in the air, something that makes your skin crawl, and that high-pitched whine in the back of your head.

Unfortunate, since he’s the last person you want to see.

You hang your jacket up and drop your bag, bracing yourself as you enter the living room. Dark’s waiting for you there.

“How did your evening go?” he asks smoothly.

He knows. He fucking knows; you can tell by that smug, patronising little tilt to his smile. He was right and you both know it.

“Get out,” you reply scathingly. You head through to the kitchen and rummage in the fridge. You hadn’t even stuck around at the party long enough to get any food – or, rather, you’d been too awkward to go and get any, because that would have involved crowds of people you’d already managed to make dislike you – so late-night snacks it is.

“You seemed disheartened. I thought my company would be pleasurable for you. I can provide anything you like, after all.”

You slam the fridge door shut. “ _You’re_  the fucking reason I can’t have any normal friends! Don’t pretend like you’re doing me a favour by being here.”

He chuckles darkly, amused by your outburst. “Is that what you think?”

“Yes, it is,” you say. He’s the reason. He has to be. There’s just… something off about him, and it’s rubbed off onto you. Everyone can tell. It lingers like something rotting your heart from the inside out, like his touch has bled poison corruption into your skin.

You were, admittedly, surprised he’d even let you go out in the first place – you’d always thought he was the sort to isolate you from friends, from other people, from any kind of support. But then again, that was working under the assumption you’d  _had_  any of those things in the first place. Maybe if you had, you wouldn’t have been stupid enough to end up with Dark in the first place.

You knew he was bad news. You knew everything about this was fucked up. But it felt like the more you tried to distance yourself from him, the deeper you dragged yourself in. It was pretty obvious to you now that the only reason he’d let you try going out to the party at all was because he’d known it would only drive you further away from the people you had no hope of connecting with, and closer to him in the process.

Dark comes up behind you, placing a hand on the back of your neck, and you start out of your ruminations. It’s only a gentle touch, almost tender, but the placement just shrieks of his control over you. You tense.

“Maybe if I wasn’t so messed up and tainted by your fucking darkness, people wouldn’t avoid me. Ugh. I can’t even blame them, at least they have the sense to stay away.”

“But the rejection still stings,” Dark says softly. You hate him for pointing it out.

“Yeah,” you reply, voice bitter.

Dark’s hand slowly drifts down your spine, coming to rest on the small of your back. He leans in, murmuring against your ear. “Blame me all you like, but do you really believe that the darkness is solely mine? You would never be welcome, regardless of my presence in your life.”

You turn around and try to shove him away; he only smirks at you. “Shut up,” you demand.

“You have far too many interests that aren’t considered suitable for polite society. I  _do_  like that about you.”

“Shut up!”

“So those are your choices. To slink in the shadows for the rest of your life, or to hide everything about who you are just to fit in. And if you choose the latter, you know you only delay the inevitable. The mask will slip sooner or later.”

“I fucking  _know!_ ” you shout. The anger quickly drains out of you, replaced by something bitter and mournful. “You think I don’t know that?”

Dark moves back in, and you hate that you don’t even try to push him away again. He pulls you closer, holding you with a loose grip on your hips. “I am here because you want me to be. Because I’m all you have.”

“Because you’re exactly what I fucking deserve.”

He smiles, coldly. He knows he has you. And you can’t even tell where his manipulation ends and your own fucked up thinking starts, because you  _know_  he’s going to hurt you, you know he’s going to use you, and maybe it’s just a testament to how much you hate yourself that some part of you wants him to.

The other part, whatever remnants of sense you have left, scream at you to get the hell out. But where would you even go? If it’s not him, it’s something else wrong with you. It’s stay with Dark, or be alone entirely. Alone would be better, but… you’re just too fucking tired. It’s not even worth the fight.

And it’s not like you didn’t try. Maybe you could have tried harder but—it  _hurts_. Nor is it anyone’s fault, you don’t blame them, but what are you meant to do when you show up, and you try so hard to be a part of things and to make conversation, to share what you love, only to realise so much of what you have to offer isn’t welcome at all? You’re not welcome. You’re not  _acceptable_.

You sink into him, leaning your weight against his chest. You’re just tired, and it shows in the hollow echo of your laugh. “I guess slinking in the shadows it is.”

“Is that so bad?”

“It is when you’re here.”

“And yet still you stay.”

“Have I ever had a choice?” you ask.

“Of course,” Dark replies, and you scoff at that because honestly, he’s lying through his teeth. Nothing about his tone betrays it, he’s a picture-perfect mirage of sincerity, but you  _know_.

You just want to let him hold you and pretend everything’s okay. And then you’ll  _ask_  him to hurt you to try and chase away the bitter, toxic thoughts clawing away inside your head, because it’s so much easier not to think when your mind is drowning in the sensation of rope tight around your wrists and a whip biting into your back.

There’s only so much you can pretend. But you still let him push you back against the kitchen counter and pin you there with his thigh between yours while he reaches up and begins undoing the buttons of your shirt.

It’s not okay. None of this is okay.

“You belong here with me,” Dark murmurs, low and seductive and arrogant. His voice sends shivers through you.

You close your eyes against the warmth of tears you won’t –  _can’t_  – cry. “I know.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Request fic in which Dark spanks the reader for misbehevaing and then provides a little bit of fleeting, obligatory aftercare. (For once, lol.)

“Come here,” Dark says, and you can already tell by the low growl in his voice that you’re in trouble. There’s a note of hesitance in your step as you approach his desk; as soon as you’re within arm’s reach, Dark grips both of your hips and pulls you towards him.

Surprise forces an undignified squeak out of you, your hands flying up to brace against his chest, gripping at the lapels of his suit jacket.

He leans in and mutters the accusation coldly against your ear. “Did I not forbid you from touching yourself?”

You can feel your face flushing. Firstly, because you can’t help the way you react to being held against him, and that  _voice_ he uses when he’s mad at you. Fuck. And secondly, how does he even know about that? You thought you’d been more than discreet – it was just that Dark had wound you up that morning, exchanging heated kisses and heavy touches before he’d needed to leave, and so maybe you had ended up staying in bed a little longer and taken care of your arousal yourself.

“I promised I would take very good care of you when I got back,” Dark continues. “Do you really lack the self-discipline to wait that long?”

“I…” You don’t really have any defence. He  _did_  tell you not to finish without him, but you’d just needed it so bad and hadn’t seen the harm… Well. You see it now. You swallow heavily. “I’m sorry.”

You can hear the distant, high-pitched ringing in your ears, the weight of his presence pressing against you. It always feels like this when he gets… intense, and you shudder. It’s equal parts fear and arousal.

“I don’t think an apology is going to be sufficient, do you, pet?”

A punishment, then. The thought makes you feel weak at the knees.

“ _Answer me_.”

“No, sir.”

His lips twist up in amusement, but approval. Calling him sir already. You didn’t consciously mean to slip into that, but, knowing what’s coming, it feels right.

“Bend over the desk,” he murmurs. 

The command is low and demanding, and you know there is no room for argument.

It’s only another step further for you to get in position. You glance over your shoulder, hips flush against the edge of the desk but hesitating in leaning down; Dark takes a firm grip on the back of your neck and forces you down until you’re pressed against the cool surface of the wooden desktop, and your breath catches on a moan.

He’s not truly angry. You’ve seen him when he’s mad, and he’s capable of treating you far more harshly than this. His touch is firm, demanding, unyielding, but not cruel.

It’s still enough to excite you, and you have to fight not to squirm. He’s pinning you there with that hand on the back of your neck, and his other hand runs firmly up the back of your thigh to your ass.

“Dark—”

You have a suspicion of what he’s going to do already, but the sharp impact of his palm still forces a choked gasp out of you. “ _Hhn._ ”

He doesn’t remove his hand, kneading over the area he’s just slapped until you  _do_  squirm beneath him. “How many of those do you think you deserve?” Dark asks.

“How many…?” It’s a little hard to think when his hand is on your ass, and all you want to do is raise your hips and spread your legs for him.

His hand works around to your front, toying with the zip of your trousers. You obligingly –  _eagerly_ , really – shift your hips to give him room to undo it and pull your trousers down to your thighs. You push your hips back almost on instinct.

He huffs a short, cold laugh at that. “Don’t think you’re going to get any pleasure from this,” he warns. Serious now, commanding. “I am going to spank you, and then I have work to finish. And you’re going to wait even longer for that orgasm you apparently wanted badly enough to  _disobey_  me.”

Your stomach sinks a little. He may not be angry in the same terrifying way as when his control snaps, but he’s not happy with you either. “I’m sorry, sir,” you say, a deeper sincerity in it this time. Honestly, the idea of the punishment thrills you; it’s the fact you’ve disappointed him that makes your need to please and to obey curl up in shame.

You deserve this.

“Now. How many.”

“…thirty,” you suggest.

Dark presses a kiss just above where his hand is holding you pinned to the desk, and the hairs on the back of your neck raise. “Hm. You’re harsh on yourself. I would have suggested twenty.”

“Thirty.”

You can feel the curve of his lips where they’re pressed against you, curling up into a smirk. That’s the only warning you get before he spanks you again, harder this time, and your knees buckle; thankfully you don’t need them to hold you up when you’re bent over like this.

_Fuck_. Sometimes you forget how goddamn strong he is, and that fucking  _hurts_ , still smarting painfully even once he removes his hand. You groan, pressing your face into the wood of the desk to try and muffle the sound.

“One,” Dark prompts. He’s expecting you to count.

You immediately regret going for such a high number. Because he’s not going to hold back, and you’re going to end up a wreck. Your pulse is already quickening with the anticipation, fear and arousal mixed together into something thoroughly heady. You take a breath and try to relax against the desk; the next strike still makes you moan.

“Two,” you say, voice cracking ever so slightly.

It’s not  _so_  bad to start with. It hurts, but the pain bleeds away quickly enough. He’s switching the exact position he strikes – a steady rhythm, smack, count, breath – but there’s only so many times he can do that before he’s hitting over the same areas again, and  _that’s_ what gets you. The impact against already bruised skin, and it forces a ragged whimper from you.

“D-Dark!”

The next spank is only  _harder_. “Don’t forget,  _pet_ ,” he says, a mocking bite to the name, “you were the one who  _disobeyed_  me. Do you think you deserve mercy?”

“Nngh…”

“Keep counting. Unless you want more.”

“Ten,” you gasp. You’re already starting to lose track, head swimming.

It hurts, but—you can’t deny that you’re into it. Hell, you probably wouldn’t be with Dark if you weren’t into some rough, messed up shit sometimes. Your ass is throbbing already, red and sore, but… it’s the way he has you pinned down, the feel of his hands on you, the rough treatment, the pain, the humiliation of being bent over and spanked like a disobedient child. You bite your lip and grind your hips against the desk. Goddamnit. It’s  _hot_.

You turn your face again, resting your cheek on the desktop and moaning at the next hit. “E-eleven.” You can watch Dark like this, and clearly you hate yourself because that does nothing to help your situation.

Dark always likes to act so collected, so controlled. He’s still keeping up the act, but watching him you can tell. The twitch in his fingers, just  _begging_ to hit you again. His eyes dark with lust, and the way they stare at you like he could pin you down with the weight of his gaze alone. He’s taken of his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves – you don’t even know when he did that – and you can see the tension in the muscles of his forearm as he brings his hand back to spank your abused ass again.

You cry out; a pained, needy noise.

The only breather he gives you is a small moment of running the flat of his palm over your reddened, smarting skin. Then comes number thirteen, and you’re lost again.

You’re not sure how you manage to keep up the counting, or if you even  _are_  managing at all. Strike after strike, and your numbers are getting slurred, choked out between desperate little gasps and moans.

By the time he reaches twenty, there are tears on your face.

God, fuck. Why did you say thirty?

“Dark, please, sir!” you beg brokenly.

“Do you want me to stop?”

Yes. But no. You want—you don’t know what you want.

Dark slides his hand round to the front of your neck and pulls your head back, leaning down to kiss you. Deeply, firmly, and you immediately melt into it. He caresses over your ass; his temperature naturally runs very cool, and it feels blissfully soothing against the abused, over-heated skin.

“You’re doing well, pet.”

A little affection, a little positive reinforcement. And possibly an unhealthy does of stubbornness, though that one is all you. That’s all you need to keep you going.

“Twenty one,” you say, and he chuckles darkly before landing the strike you just counted.

“ _Nngh!_ ”

Dark takes it slower now, just slightly, allowing you more time to breathe between each strike. Not that it helps a huge amount. You’re getting loud; helpless, desperate, pained noises every time he hits you, and you can’t quieten yourself at all. You’re writhing against the desk, squirming beneath him, eyes glassy and needy.

“P-please, Dark, god,  _please_ , i-it hurts, I can’t—”

Counting has gone out the window. You hope he’s keeping track, because all you can do is beg.

It  _aches_. Your abused ass, but you’re aching with want as well. You want the punishment to be over and then you want  _him_.

“That’s thirty, pet,” Dark finally says, and you breathe in a shaky, sobbing sigh of relief.

“ _Please_ ,” you beg again. You want more; you want him.

For a moment you think he might actually indulge you. He enjoys hurting you more than he should; you can tell from the lust in his eyes, the quickening of his breath, and – most obvious – the bulge that’s formed in the front of his trousers. You both want it. More. Please.

But then Dark pulls away, and you sag in disappointment, moaning quietly. You don’t try to stand; you don’t trust your legs to hold your weight.

Fortunately, Dark doesn’t go far; he wraps an arm around you, scooping you up and carrying you to the sofa. You bury your face against his chest.

“You took your punishment well. But you are still going to wait for your orgasm.”

You sigh and shiver in his hold, but you know better than to protest. No matter how much you want to. It was your impatience that got you into this goddamn mess in the first place.

He sits on the sofa with you across his lap, and honestly, just that much is so nice. Just to be held while your choked breaths even out, while the throbbing ache dulls into something more bearable. His hands are on you again, touch a soothing, possessive caress.

“I’ll make sure you are well rewarded this evening,” Dark murmurs, voice low, and the promise sends a shiver of lust through you.

Damn. You need to stop that. The evening is still far too many hours away, and you know you’re not going to be able to stop thinking about it. Not going to be able to sit either, but you don’t mind so much.

“Provided you do not disobey me again,” he adds pointedly.

You wince at the thought. “I’ll be good.”

“You had better be, pet.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some dumb angst involving Dark. It is kind of a Dark/Reader thing, but only in that they interact. Definitely not a relationship in the slightest, lol. This is a lot exaggerated for the sake of angst and suffering, but probably closer-ish(?) to what I’d image really happening if anyone tried to approach Dark with any kind of proposition.
> 
> Warnings for a lot of… verbal abuse, I guess you’d call it? Shitton of negativity, degradation, and self-hate and implied suicidal tendancies on the reader’s part. Possibly something you'd want to take care about reading if you’re not in a good frame of mind.

“How adorably deluded. And pathetic.”

Dark tilts his head as he stares down at you, the red and blue of his auras crackling and distorting around him. You can feel the pressure, the ringing in your ears. It’s less comforting than you thought it would be.

“I—”

“You spent so much time trying to seek me out. And such a  _fool_ you made of yourself in the process.”

A sharp breath. Why does he have to say it so  _mockingly?_  It stings, but… “But I found you in the end, didn’t I?”

He raises an eyebrow. “And tell me, what exactly did you expect to happen when you did?”

The question makes your blood run cold. He says it so cuttingly, disdain dripping like acid in his tone. And it  _hurts_. Not the way you wanted it to. You swallow.

“I have an offer. A deal… that I’d like to make.”

Dark snorts. You go to continue, almost stumbling over your words to explain yourself, but he raises his hand to silence you. You obey instantly.

“I have little care for what  _you_  wanted. But,” his lips twitch, disgust pulling at his expression before settling back into arrogance. “Tell me what you were going to offer me in return.”

“…I don’t have anything to offer but myself. I would be yours, do anything you wanted—”

“Mm,” he says, cutting you off. His dark eyes pierce straight through you, with such icy coldness that you want to wither beneath his gaze. “That’s what I thought.”

You’re still on your knees, the way you’d knelt before him at the start of all this, and he circles around you. Stalks, like a goddamn predator. It’s not an inaccurate comparison.

“Now, why would you want to throw your life away like that?”

It’s a trick question, isn’t it? His voice is too light all of a sudden, too inviting; wanting you to answer. Goading you.

Your heart is pounding too fast in your chest, anxiety tightening your throat. You don’t know  _how_  to answer. Or perhaps it’s more that you do know, and you know Dark won’t like what you have to say.

He chuckles, a sound that’s pure malice. “That’s alright. I already know. People come to me because they’re  _desperate_.” He’s back in front of you now; he grips your jaw, fingers like an iron vice, and yanks your head up to look at him. Whatever he sees in your eyes makes his lips curl up in revulsion again, and he pulls abruptly away as though he’s touched something foul.

“Exactly as I thought.” He straightens his suit, turning away. You’re not even significant enough for him to look at. “There are two flavours of desperation. There are those who want something so badly they will do anything to get it. That, I admire. A lofty goal, just so out of reach. A desire for power. Misguided, foolish, certainly; but those people I can use.”

He turns his head and meets your eyes. “And then there are  _your_  kind. Desperation born of hating yourself so much you would sell your soul to the devil just to get away from the  _responsibility_  of having to be the one to change yourself. Or perhaps because you feel you deserve the suffering?”

“I-I…”

He knows he’s right. It’s obvious in the tears gathering at the corners of your eyes, trailing down your cheeks.  _Fine_. Yes. Maybe… maybe you wanted to suffer at his hands, have him hurt you, though you can’t tell how much is because you feel you deserve it and how much is because that’s the only attention anyone would ever give you. Even knowing he would only use you, maybe it would be worth it because at least then  _someone_ would have use for you, for one blissful moment before he tossed you aside.

You’re not even worth that much. His words cut you to the quick, make you feel like  _nothing_.

Of course you’re nothing to him, you realise bitterly.

You’re nothing to anyone. Why would Dark be any different?

Your lack of response – you can’t even  _try_  to deny it – only angers him more, and Dark snaps.

His auras break away in shrieking shells. “Give me one good reason why I would  _ever_ waste my time on  _pitiful_  cowards like you,” he snarls, and you scramble backwards. Heart pounding in your chest, breaths sobbing, and you’re almost blinded by your own tears.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

For a moment you think he’s going to murder you, the fury in his eyes is so terrifying. But then he regains his composure, and the rage dies away into something far colder and more cruel.

“I could kill you for your impudence. But that would be giving you what you wanted, wouldn’t it?” He laughs, the sound biting. It makes you feel sick to the stomach. “No. I’ll give you what you  _deserve_. Crawl away knowing exactly how worthless and unwanted you are.”

“D-Dark, please…” Your voice is shaking. This is the opposite of what you wanted.

“I have no use for you.”

“ _Dark_ —”

“Take your own life, if that’s what you want,” he says dismissively, callously. “But don’t  _ever_  dare presume to use  _me_  for what you’re too pathetic to do yourself.”

You can’t breathe. His words feel like a knife to your gut. And he’s just standing there, all fucking polished and perfect in his flawless suit, while you fall apart. He doesn’t care. You never expected him to  _care_ , but you’d imagined he would at least get some satisfaction from breaking you.

There’s no satisfaction in breaking something that’s already broken, you suppose.

In the end, all you can do is laugh in pure agony, the pitch of it rising to a scream. You hate him. You hate him, you hate him, you hate him.

But not as much as you hate yourself.

By the time you finally pick yourself up and wipe the tears from your eyes enough to see, Dark is gone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not entirely related to the fic, but. Fun story. While I was in LA I might've actually tracked down the theatre in question and gone to have a look at it. So the description of its current outside appearance is actually accurate, lol.
> 
> Ironically, that was the same evening that the 'Go Back To Sleep' trailer dropped, probably only like five or six hours after I'd been there.
> 
> That was a cute little coincidence.

There’s a sick sensation in the pit of your stomach, and you can’t shake it.

You knew the whole thing was stupid from the start. That’s sort of the problem. You _knew_. But you came anyway. And now you’re standing outside an old, run-down building, cast in the deep shadows of dwindling sunset, in the middle of an unfamiliar city ten thousand fucking miles away from home.

It used to be a theatre. Just a small one; you can still see the remains of the name up on the wall, although the actual lettering is long since gone. The deep red front is still there, though marred with graffiti.

Once upon a time, there was a video where you’d come here for a date. It was the first time you’d set eyes on Dark.

It was the start of everything going wrong.

You’d been hooked on Dark ever since, honestly. And there’s a lot about that that you don’t understand. He was just meant to be a character. Right? But he had so much more presence than that. He’d become his own entity. And all the lines you thought you understood perfectly, where fiction and reality separated, started blurring.

He’d got into your head.

He’d haunted your dreams.

He’d poisoned your thoughts with tiny little compulsions that seemed so harmless, so reasonable, but all of which had led to you being here. No matter how much you try to justify that it was your own decision to come, the hollow feeling in your chest won’t go away. You’re _scared_ of yourself. Of your lack of control.

You’re not meant to be here.

You’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

The building is clearly abandoned. The theatre’s been shut down a while. You should just walk away, there’s nothing for you here. But you try the door anyway.

It opens.

A sordid little laugh bubbles up in your throat. It opens like something out of a goddamn horror game; a door that should be locked, leading into an old, decrepit building. Yet you’re going to go in anyway. You already know that. You have a solid track record of terrible decisions by this point, after all, and a complete lack of being able to resist Dark’s hold on you.

The inside looks like it’s fared better than the outside; it looks just like you remember from your first date. (First date? God, you’re ridiculous.) If anything, it’s probably in an improved condition to what it was then. The lights are on, bright and cheery. The paint is crisp and fresh, plush seats and couches littered at the edge of the lobby, a polished sheen to the desk of the box office. It’s… a little _too_ neat, considering the place has been closed down for months, at least.

Your pulse is starting to pick up; you can hear it in your ears. A cold sweat starts to prickle at the back of your neck.

You’re not meant to be here.

But at the same time, you’re exactly where you’re meant to be, because this is where Dark wants you. Isolated. Alone. Nobody knows you’re here, anybody who could help you is on another damn continent.

Your throat feels tight. He’s _not_ here. He can’t be here, because he doesn’t fucking exist. You’re only freaking yourself out over nothing.

But the trembling of your fingers won’t listen to rationale. Nor will they listen to you screaming internally to stop, just _leave_ ; instead, you find yourself reaching out for the door into the theatre proper.

There’s the walkway, rows of seats to your right and the stage in front. You trace your footprints on autopilot, just like the first time you were ~~n’t~~ here, and take your seat. The old building creaks, and the stage lights gutter. You can’t turn away; you close your eyes instead. You’re afraid of what you’re going to see, your mind replaying the events of Dark’s first appearance over and over and over.

You’re stuck in a loop. You’ve been stuck in a loop ever since then. And now you’re finally here in person to complete the cycle and make it real.

You hear his laugh first; a low, cruel chuckle. It raises goosebumps along your arms.

Your eyes fly open. You don’t _want_ to see him – the opposite. You’re still clutching at the hopes this is all you, your own stupid fault getting too caught up in your thoughts of him and the dumb games you’ve been playing in your own head.

It’s not real. He’s not real. This isn’t real.

He doesn’t appear on the stage like you’d expect. He appears beside you, talking his seat, and reaches out a hand to rest on the back of your neck.

Oh, god. Why does he feel so real? His cold, possessive touch—

He leans in and murmurs against your ear. “I’m glad you could finally make it for our second date, darling.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [WARNING: NONCON] Dark doesn't take kindly to you trying to leave him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNING: NONCON**   
>  **This fic was done as a request using one of the prompts from a noncon sentence starter list, so like. It’s bad, okay. Dark is 100% a monstrous, abusive douchecanoe.**
> 
> In fact, Dark is so bad in this that it's almost starting to toe the line of being out of character, lol. I don't think he'd ever really go this far. Not precalculated, at least. But maybe if his anger really, really got the better of him... ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

The silence feels like the eye of a hurricane. Deathly still, with destruction encroaching on every side.

You’re still trying to process Dark’s words. Of all the humiliating names, of all the goddamn things he could accuse you of—

“It’s not  _cheating_  if we’re not together,” you finally burst, indignant and hurt. “We’re  _over_. We’ve been over for fucking weeks, I told you—!”

Your words are cut off by Dark’s hand wrapping around your throat, enough force behind the action that your head slams back into the wall.

“That is not your decision to make,” Dark says, and his voice is just dripping with icy fury. His auras are clawing at your skin; normally the sensation is something like soft static, but when he’s like this the writhing, fragmented shards of his shell dig into you like glass. His fingers are gripping you tightly enough to bruise.

You clench your eyes shut against the tears you can feel starting to well up. He’s not completely choking you, but it’s enough to make your eyes water. And make it hard to speak.

“I-I…” You almost wish you could laugh at how absurd the statement is. Of course it’s your goddamn decision if you want to stay in a relationship or not!  “I can’t  _do_  this,” you say, voice rough and shaky. “Just let me go. Please, Dark.”

“Did you really think there weren’t going to be consequences for me finding you with that disgusting little glitch’s tongue down your throat?”

You feel your face flushing; you’re not sure if it’s anger or embarrassment. “What does it even matter to you? You don’t own me!”

It’s the wrong thing to say. You can see it instantly in the way Dark’s eyes shift to black.

“ ** _Y o u_** ** _b e l o n g  t o  m e_** _,_ ” he roars, auras screaming around him as his patience snaps completely. His power crackles through the room, the world around you warping and groaning under the weight of his anger.

Your legs buckle; he doesn’t bother trying to keep you upright, releasing your throat so you can sink to your knees on the ground before him.

He’s a demon, a literal goddamn monster, and he’s  _terrifying_. How could you ever hope to stand against that?

You’re trembling, you can feel it, curling your arms into yourself as if that would offer the slightest hope of protection. Even when he recomposes himself, when the darkness seeps back out of the corners of the room, it does nothing to alleviate the sickening terror gnawing at your stomach.

He straightens his suit, breathing out heavily as he cracks his neck. His auras shift, like he’s trying to re-contain all that power back into the façade of a human shell. “I don’t want to hurt you,” Dark says. Quieter, now, but there’s still nothing but acid in his words. “None of this would have to happen if you stayed with me, where you belong.”

Dark leans down and cups your face in his hand; you automatically flinch away, but his touch only grows firmer. His other hand settles on your waist.

You close your eyes and turn your face away from him; it’s all you can do, really. This is why, this is  _exactly_  why you needed to leave in the first place. His possessiveness had seemed almost sweet at first, the attention and feeling of being wanted heady and addictive. But it all too quickly soured when his anger and jealously reared their ugly heads. That, and the realisation that this was exactly what you were to him. A possession. Just a thing that he owned, a  _toy_.

Speaking of being his toy—

Your breath hitches; you don’t like the way he’s touching you, fingers sliding down to your hip. It’s… far too intimate, and, funnily enough, you’re not in the goddamn mood.

“I  _o w n_  you. It seems you need a reminder of that.”

The cold finality in his words makes your blood run cold. “Get off me,” you hiss. You shove at him, twisting violently out of his grip and scrambling to your feet. It’s barely seconds before his hand reaches around your wrist like an iron shackle, pulling you back against him.

“If you struggle, I will tie up your hands. If you scream, I will gag you. You have nowhere to go.”

Your heart is pounding so hard you’re almost convinced it could burst from your chest. “Dark _—_ ”

“Just stop fighting and let me in.”

“ _No!_  Stop, I don’t want—”

Your words are cut off into an indignant, muffled shout as Dark yanks your head around and presses his lips against yours.

You keep your mouth tightly closed, trying to squirm against him, push him off. To turn your head away, at the very least, but he has a hand tangled into your hair now and his grip is agonisingly tight. You have no room to move at all. His lips are insistent, trying to part yours but you’re not going to—

He pulls away, and you don’t even have time to wonder why before he backhands you across the face. The shock and pain makes you cry out—it’s all the opening he needs, and then he’s kissing you again, violently, snaking his tongue inside and fucking your mouth with it. Your head is still reeling too much, cheek smarting where he hit you, and you can’t get the slightest amount of leverage to fight back against him.

The kiss is bruising, nothing more than a brutal statement of ownership and you wish you could believe that was the worst of it, but he’s not going to stop at a kiss and the thought makes you feel sick. Scared. So scared of him.

Once upon a time you used to  _love_  him. That’s the cruellest thing of all.

You taste blood before Dark finally pulls away. Your lips swollen and bruised, cheeks wet with white-hot tears.

“Don’t stop crying,” he purrs lowly. “You’re beautiful like that.” His smirk is callous, eyes still dark with anger, but tempered now with an appreciative hunger as he runs his gaze over you like you’re something to be devoured.

“You are  _m i n e_ , and I’m going to fuck you so hard you never, ever forget it again.”

His hand reaches down to undo your trousers and you flinch, trying to squirm away, but he’s right. There’s nowhere for you to go. He’s holding you too tightly, his strength is so much greater than yours, and you scream at him to get the fuck off but it’s not like that’s going to do you any good.

A flash of irritation crosses his face, and then his other hand clamps down over your mouth to silence you. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be,  _darling_.”

His grip is bruising, fingers digging painfully into your jaw. You can only whimper quietly behind his hand as he lays you out on the floor – not like you’re going to get the comfort of a bed, not for this – and tears your jeans off.

You try to land a kick on him, but fear has you gripped in a chokehold, paralysing your limbs. Your heel glances off his hip, and Dark doesn’t even seem to notice.

He removes his hand from your mouth so he can use it to hold down your wrists instead; his hips pin yours to the floor and you can feel the hardness of his arousal and—fuck. Fuck him.  _Fuck him_. He’s actually getting off on this? Enjoyingyour struggles, really that uncaring about hurting you.

“I hate you,” you spit. Your voice is trembling, but the words are still full of bitter venom.

You hear the sound of his zipper being pulled down, and all you can do is bite your lip and turn your face away, a fresh trail of tears burning down your cheeks.

“You know I only do this because I love you,” Dark says.

He forces your legs wider apart, fingernails digging into your thigh, and – oh, god – you feel his cock press against you. He leans over you and you scream as he forces his way inside.

“Because you’re mine,” he murmurs, groaning under his breath. You’re so tight; too tight, he’s being too rough. Your voice cracks on a sob as he pulls out and shoves back in again. “Because I won’t let  _a n y t h i n g_  take you away from me.”

He lets go of your wrists to cup your face instead, thumb wiping the tears from your cheek in sadistic mockery of a tender gesture.

“We’re going to be together forever,” Dark promises.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** Rough angry sex, painplay/impact play, mild blood, choking/breathplay, puppety D/s relationship. The relationship _looks_ probably unhealthy and abusive from the outside, but the reader knows what they want and is happy with the arrangement they have with Dark.

All it takes is one message from Dark for you to drop everything and rush over.

He normally prefers to keep his work and personal life separate, so you don’t visit him here very often. You’ve been to the building he uses as his base of operations before, but only just enough that you have the general gist of how to make your way through it on your own. You have butterflies churning in your stomach as you make your way up.

There was nothing more to the message than an abrupt ‘come to my office’.

It’s oddly quiet. Usually the other egos are around, and with their larger-than-live presences it’s somewhat chaotic. But Wilford definitely isn’t here, and the only others you pass are a pair of harried-looking Jims who seem surprised and somewhat concerned to find you there.

Dark must really be in a bad mood to send them scattering like that. Heaven knows he can be terrifying when he’s angry. But it doesn’t even cross your mind to try and stay away; he summoned you, and you obey without question.

You knock on the door before entering. It’s clear from the moment you enter the office that ‘bad mood’ is an understatement; the atmosphere of cold fury is palpable, and Dark’s auras visibly writhe and crack around him even as he maintains his own icy composure.

You sink to one knee and bow your head, awaiting permission to speak or look at him.

“Pet,” Dark greets curtly.

“Sir,” you say softly in return.

It makes your chest tighten, seeing him like this. There’s an instinctive fear you can never quite shake, because of course you know how dangerous he is, but—you just hate it when he’s upset. You want to make him happy. Even if you can’t control anything of his work or dealings with the other egos, it feels like you’ve failed by not being here for him sooner.

You raise your eyes to find Dark staring down at you with a cold intensity, his fingers twitching. He takes a breath and cracks his neck, as if he can smother the violent urges clearly written in the shrieking tumult of his auras.

He wants to hurt you.

“The other egos have been… trying,” Dark says, voice strained with the effort of keeping it even. So much rage he’s reigning in. “Pet…”

It makes your mouth go dry, breaths quickening. “Take it out on me,” you offer. That’s what he wants to do, isn’t it? That’s why he called you. You don’t mind, enough of a twisted little masochist that the idea excites you more than it scares you. You want to make him happy.

Dark stands and paces over to you, reaching down to grip you by the throat and force your head up. “At least there’s one person in this god-forsaken existence who knows their place.”

The praise makes your heart flutter. “Yes, sir.”

His thumb strokes across your jawline for a short, tender moment, then he backhands you across the cheek. The force of it has you crumpling to the ground, choking back a gasp.

It’s worth the satisfaction in his eyes.

“Get up. Follow me,” he commands shortly, and you scramble to obey despite the way your face is stinging.

You don’t question where you’re going. You don’t question Dark, full stop.

The others don’t understand. They don’t exactly approve of your relationship with Dark. But what happens behind closed doors is none of their business, and they just can’t comprehend that you  _want_ this. You love Dark. You’d do anything to bring him as much joy as you can. And the way he hurts you only thrills you.

He leads you to the basement, a few levels deep. Dark’s business dealings aren’t always strictly above board; it’s not common, but not unheard of either, for methods such as kidnapping and interrogation to come into play. So, there is what one might call a holding cell down here. Or a dungeon, if they were feeling creative.

He backs you up against the wall, radiating a cruel intensity that makes your knees feel weak. “Strip,” Dark demands.

It’s a little cold here, but you don’t hesitate. Unbuttoning your shirt and sliding it off your shoulders, then stepping out of your shoes and jeans. Dark watches every movement, drinking it in, until he gestures for you to stop when you’re down to just your underwear.

“Face the wall. Hands in the shackles.”

Dark presses up against you from behind, one hand snaking around your waist while the other snaps the shackles closed around your wrists. You can feel his breath against the back of your neck; his auras brush against you with the sharp, stabbing electric of pins and needles, instead of the soft static you feel when he’s in a more indulgent mood.

“ _You_  obey me,” Dark murmurs.

“Always, sir.”

For a moment you feel his lips brush against your shoulder blade, curved up into a smirk, then Dark steps away.

The next thing you feel is the biting sting of several thin, knotted tails lashing against your back. You know this toy. A cat o’ nine tails, or something close enough. Black leather with little metal beads at the end, and just the first stroke is enough to make you whimper.

It hurts. And you have a high pain threshold, you can take a lot of this and still enjoy it, but Dark is—he’s so angry today, so much vitriol he needs to get out, and you scream so prettily for him when he pushes you to your limits.

He has your back torn up with bloody welts, and across your thighs and your ass as well. When you sob he only hits you harder.

“Master, D-dark, I…” You’re shaking and lightheaded, and you love him. Love him, anything for him, hurt me, hurt me hurtme hurt—

Dark abruptly undoes the shackles, and you tilt forward into the wall to stop yourself from falling completely. He yanks on your shoulder to spin you round then shoves you down—there’s a cot in the room, thin mattress and equally thin sheets, but it’s not like you’re sleeping here. It’s good enough for him to pin you down on it, the fabric scratching at your ruined back. Both of his hands around your throat, a vicious satisfaction as he watches the light fade from your eyes.

You don’t fight it. Don’t fight him. Your body trembles, gasping with the need for air, but at the same time you adore it so much when he chokes you out like this.

You’re on the verge of passing out, vision dimmed and head spinning, when he finally lets you go. In the same moment, he pulls your underwear off and you feel his cock press against you. You moan brokenly as he shoves inside.

It’s not as rough as it could be. He’s done worse. A lot of his anger he’s already taken out in whipping you and choking you, and this now is just for his own satisfaction. And yours—not that that’s a consideration worth taking into account.

Dark pins your wrists to the bed in an iron grip, fucking you hard. He has you utterly senseless, pain mixed with pleasure as he stretches you open and uses you and you helplessly get off of it.

You cum twice from being abused like that before he reaches his own peak, filling you up inside with his seed like he owns you. He does.

Finally the tension bleeds from his face, and you exhaustedly giggle and press a soft kiss against his cheekbone. “Feel better?”

He gives you a hard look – forward of you to kiss him first – but there’s no heat behind it anymore. “Yes. You did well for me, pet.”

As sore and aching as you are, the praise makes you melt.

His cock slides out of you and you shiver at the loss. Dark refastens his trousers (he’d only undone them just enough to get to you) and smooths down his suit. He wraps you in the sheet from the cot and pulls you against him.

You know he can’t stay; it’s the middle of the workday still, and Dark is meticulous about his schedule. You don’t resent that. But he holds you until your breathing evens out, and kisses you gently before laying you down again. He picks up your clothes and places them on the cot beside you.

“Send me a message when you get home.”

“Yes, sir,” you mumble sleepily.

“Don’t stay here too long.”

“I won’t.”

He pauses just one moment longer before leaving, grazing his fingers over your shoulder and down your arm in a soft caress. He takes your hand and squeezes it for a second. “I am glad to have you.”

You bury your face into the sheet and grin. “Love you too, Dark.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a super short one. Trying to clean up all the little minifics and stuff I've posted to Tumblr but don't currently have over here, just for the sake of archival/easier reading.

“Tell me what you want, darling,” Dark murmurs. His voice, low and reverberating, washes over you like a spell.

Eyes wide and blank, you lean into his touch. His arm around your waist, body pressed against yours, a hand that cups your jaw and tilts your head back so his lips can claim yours.

Your knees feel weak, melting into him.

You want him. Want this. Is that wrong?

Nothing makes sense anymore. You’re not meant to be  _like this_. The nervousness, the paranoia, the unease, every worry that had clawed at your mind on the way to this moment; that was what was real. Wasn’t it?

But he made you happy. It had all melted away once you’d found yourself by his side, and he’d smiled and taken your hand. Taken you out somewhere so lovely. Such a quaint little date, but god, you’d enjoyed it. The attention, the heady feeling of being with him.

You were. You were  _happy_.

Grinning like a fool, heart fluttering, chest feeling like it was going to overflow.

But it wasn’t meant to be like that… was it? He’s meant to be a demon. A monster. He’ll use you. And yet you’ve never felt more genuinely fucking happy than you do now, not for a long time.

Is it  _wrong_  to feel happy?

Is it  _wrong_  to stop fighting and let yourself experience joy for goddamn once?

You’re trembling beneath his touch. “Dark, I…”

His thumb strokes gently across your cheek. A soft reassurance, waiting patiently for you to find the words to finish. The realisation aches.

“Oh, god. I think I’m in love with you.”

Dark chuckles. “Is that so terrible?”

“I don’t know.”

He only smiles as he lays you down against the bed, and your arms curl around his shoulders to hold him close.

You close your eyes and say it again. Like a death knell, sealing your fate. Knowing he can never say it back.

“I love you.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I missed one of the tiny tumblr pieces when I was trying to get everything updated, oops. This was from way early on when I'd just started writing for the fandom. Inspired by/written as an addition when I reblogged a post saying "Headcanon that Dark can steal people’s souls by kissing them."

You swore you weren’t going to let this happen. But you’re weak. You might as well be the perfect puppet; so eager to please, so easy to manipulate. You’re not one to fall for a pretty face alone, but  _power_  – oh, that you fall for. Power and control. It’s like you’re just begging to be made to submit.

So when Dark reaches out and touches the back of your hand, you don’t pull away. You should. His touch feels wrong – too cold, inhuman – but it still sends shivers through you, a mix of repulsion and anticipation.

His fingertips brush along your jaw, his thumb caressing your cheek, as he tucks a lock of your hair back behind your ear. He’s all charm like this, all seduction.

He wants your soul from you. And you hate yourself enough, so tired of feeling worthless and broken, that you’re willing to give it up.  You want him to use you, because then at least  _someone_  will have found some kind of worth in your existence. 

At least you can pretend in these last moments that someone cared, even though you know it’s a lie.

He’s a good actor, though.

His smile is warm, alluring, drawing you in, even though it doesn’t reach the dark lines of his eyes as they capture yours. No, there’s only the smug satisfaction of victory there. You let him tilt your head back anyway, your breath quickening.

Dark’s lips graze yours – they’re cold as well – and you don’t resist. He holds your face between his hands as he kisses you; you moan softly as you part your lips to let him in. Your first kiss, and inevitably your last.

The cold of his touch spreads, down your spine and through your veins. It tightens around your chest until it aches.

Your fingers clutch at his suit, clinging to him as your knees weaken. Weakening far too fast, far more than could ever be waved away as simply swooning over a kiss. He’s draining your warmth and your strength. Draining your soul from you. Yet you can’t pull away.

It’s not the worst way to go. It doesn’t hurt. You just feel numb. And Dark is kissing you, slowly, thoroughly, tenderly, savouring you as he devours the last shreds of your light.

When he finally releases you, you collapse to the ground an empty shell.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> M o n s t e r ! D a r k :D
> 
> ...I just really love the concept of a more eldritch abomination sort of Dark, and this wasn't even meant to be a fic, I was only going to describe the way I pictured my monster!Dark in my head, but then. It escalated. You know how it be.
> 
> This is still only a short little snippet, but. Monster!Dark. Mmm.

You think you’re falling for a charming man in a suit, with eyes as black as coal and a voice deep enough to make you melt for him.

You let him lead you into the darkness;  _his_ darkness. His edges blur, blue and red curling around him with the delicate beauty of his own personal aurora.

He sweetly murmurs for you to let him in, and you do so willingly. Let him kiss you. He pours his darkness into you, the euphoric emptiness of the void, flooding into your lungs and seeping into your blood.

He doesn’t stop until you’re breathless, saturated with his corruption. And when he pulls away, you can see the truth of him.

The darkness is alive, and part of him. It breathes and pulses, slowly writhing behind him. His suit is liquid shadow, his white shirt the bones of his ribcage. He’s ashen grey, limbs just a little too long and skin a little too taut and sunken. Three sets of arms with grasping fingers, wrapped in veins of darkness that tug and guide them like a marionette. Three sets of eyes too; the first the same as ever, so black you feel you could drown in them, and then two more pairs in blood-red and sapphire that stare hungrily down at you. 

He smiles at you with a mouth that’s little more than a gash torn into the flesh of his face, and his teeth are the shards of a shattered mirror.

He grips your wrists, your shoulders, your hips. You tilt your head back as he leans in. He can’t kiss you anymore, not like this, but the jagged edges of those teeth graze across your throat. Blood wells up from the scratches they leave.

You can feel it, the same pulse as the darkness surrounding him. Like a heartbeat, thrumming through you. Your body aches for more of his corruption.

If he can flood you with his darkness from just a kiss, how else can he fill you?

Clawed, emaciated fingers pull your clothes from you, his touch cold enough to make you shiver beneath him. He’s still strong. Strong enough to lift you with one set of arms while another spreads your thighs for him, and the last explore your warm, soft flesh with the fascination of something that hasn’t been human in a very long time.

Dark’s cock is as black as his void-like, eldritch form. Thick and inhuman, widening even further at the base until you don’t know if you could even take it.

Your eyes roll back as it sinks into you. Feeling every inch of his length as he slowly stretches you open, until you’re so full of him you feel like you could burst.

Moans and quiet, desperate whimpers as he fucks you, that deep voice reverberating in your head as he demands you submit to his claim on you.

You let him in.

You belong to him.

He will have his way with you and make you his.

You can only respond in shuddering pleas of ‘yes’. Mindless and needy, the way that demon cock of his strokes inside you leaving you helpless in the wake of your pleasure.

The glass shards of his fangs sink deep into your shoulder as he pumps you full of his tainted seed, corrupting you from the inside.

“Mine,” Dark's monstrous form growls. And, utterly lost to him, you scream your agreement.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a minor thing about Dark with a tentacle dick going around in a small corner of the NSFW Tumblr niche, and an anon suggested I should write tentadick Dark + oviposition, since I wrote that one thing with Anti and Sam and oviposition before. So, uh. This happened.
> 
> (Did I actually legit try to justify how this could happen within the bounds of the new canon understanding we got since the Damien explanation livestream? ...apparently, yes.)

That’s the thing about being stuck somewhere like this. Reality isn’t exactly… stable. Because there is no reality; only enough semblance of it to just about let you stay sane.

Dark isn’t always stable either. He settled on his preferred form early on, and has enough to control to retain it. Mostly. Sometimes the story shifts, and his form shifts with it.

The nightmares are the worst. Dark won’t admits he has them – he doesn’t sleep at all, as a general rule, and you’re not sure if that’s the reason why – but there are times when the fractured memories take over. When he remembers the truth is that he should be dead.

You’ve seen his shell break, his body cracking apart. Into sunken, demonic red eyes, skin peeling away from the face of a corpse, nose and half his jaw missing. Skeletal hands with long, blackened, cracked nails reaching for you before he wakes enough to wrest back control.

The nightmares are the worst for everyone involved.

Other times it’s not  _bad_ , just… strange. That’s usually Wilford’s fault (most things are). He’s the worst for causing plot holes and breaks in the façade of the reality you live in now. And once one break happens, more and more follow. Dark’s spent enough time around Wilford to be able to do the same, though to a lesser degree and – usually – intentionally.

He wouldn’t have been able to break through and drag you back from your mirror world otherwise.

As a result of all of that, though, it’s just a fact of the matter that sometimes, often by nobody’s design, shit just gets  _weird._

Weird as in trying to go down on Dark, getting as far as having him shirtless and pulling his trousers down, only to find a tentacle in his pants in place of where his dick usually would be.

“What the  _fuck?_ ”

Dark sighs. “I did try to tell you now wasn’t a good time to play, dear.”

For a long moment, all you can do is stare in bewilderment. It’s… very phallic, that much is immediately obvious. Inky black, like the shadows of Dark’s void, thick and a little longer than his cock is normally. Flexible, too, and it seems to almost have a mind of its own. It curls away as you curiously stretch your fingers out, and you pause. “Is this why you’ve been avoiding having sex with me for the last few days?”

“I’m certain it won’t be permanent, if you just allow me a few more—”

You tentatively take the tentacle in your hand, and Dark’s response cuts off into a short hiss of pleasure. It doesn’t  _feel_  weird to touch or anything. Just like skin, like warmth. Not quite hard, in the same way as Dark’s dick gets when you stroke that, but the tentacle seems almost… muscular.  _Strong_.

Heat curls in your gut. That tentacle could probably do some very, very interesting things.

“Listen,” you inform Dark. “If I fucked you as a goddamn zombie that one time and still found that hot in some horrifically fucked up way, I can handle a tentacle dick.”

Dark snorts, then coughs to try and cover his laugh. “You are… commendably adaptable.”

You shrug. “I’m into you because you’re you, not for how you look or what you have in your pants.”

He doesn’t reply immediately, but he’s wearing a small smile as he tilts his head. He reaches out and cups your face, stroking his fingers through your hair. They tighten into a fist as you lean in and lick along the underside of the tentacle.

“Ahh, darling—”

“Does it still feel good?”

As if you really need to ask. From the way Dark’s breath catches, it certainly seems that way.

This isn’t exactly what you had in mind when you got on your knees in front of Dark at the start of this, but maybe it’s  _better_. The size is a little daunting to try and take all of it into your mouth immediately. So you take the tip of it into your hand to stroke while you nuzzle against the base, curling your tongue around it and lavishing the new appendage with hot, open-mouthed kisses.

Dark’s auras writhe, brow knitting with the unexpected pleasure.

But there’s only so much he’s going to take of the teasing, of letting you have your way. You’ve certainly done your job of making your interest clear.

Dark growls, and the sound of it makes your heart skip. You barely have time to let out a squeak of surprise before he abruptly shoves you up against the wall.

“That is  _enough_ ,” he says, voice low and rough and commanding in that way that never fails to make your knees weak. “Are you really that much of a little slut for me that you’ll take anything?”

You move to wrap your arms around his shoulders, but Dark only tsks and pins your wrists on either side of your head instead. He’s pressed up flush against you, and you can feel the way that tentacle is pressed between your stomachs. You can feel the way it pulses as it wriggles and flexes and—you whimper as you imagine what it would feel like doing that inside you.

“Y-yes, sir,” you gasp. “I’m yours, I want all of you.”

For a moment his simply stares at you, eyes black as coal and grip like iron, before leaning in and kissing you fiercely.

He lets go of your wrists – fighting the instinctive desire to touch him in return, you obediently keep your hands where he pinned them – and then his fingers make short work of unbuttoning your shirt and tearing your clothing off you.

“Dark..” you murmur, a quiet whine in your voice.

“You want to work me up?” he growls. “You want my tentacle dick? Then you’re going to  _take it_.”

 _Fuck_. Please. You moan as his words alone make a pulse of lust shudder through you.

His hands slide down your sides and pull your jeans and underwear down; you kick them off, and then you’re naked and pinned beneath him. Breaths shallow, face flushed.

“Can I touch? Please?”

Dark smirks. “Go then, darling. If you want it that badly.”

He kisses you again, all heat and need, his tongue stroking inside your mouth until you’re panting for him. You wrap one arm around Dark’s neck to ground yourself, then take the tentacle in your other hand and stroke up the length of it.

The low, rumbling groan Dark makes in response sounds like pure lust to your ears.

He touches you in return, fingers sliding between your legs to tease against your entrance. Your hips buck, almost involuntarily grinding down against his touch, and you whine needily.

Dark’s lips trail hotly down your throat, leaving stinging little nips and lovebites against the sensitive flesh. You let your head fall back against the wall to allow him access, eyes fluttering closed.

You keep stroking him as he teases you; the tentacle feels hot and heavy in your hand. Thick. It narrows slightly towards the end, but only in comparison to the rest of it; it doesn’t come to a tip so much as a blunt head. One that is very slick with… whatever fluids tentacle dicks produce, and insistently probing against your palm.

Dark curls two fingers inside you, and you rock into the touch with a desperate moan.

“Tell me now,” he demands roughly, “if you want to take this to bed. Otherwise I  _will_  fuck you right up against the wall.”

“Wall is good,” you agree, trying not to whimper.

“Then spread your legs for me.”

You do so without a moment’s hesitation, needy and aching for it. You let go of the tentacle in favour of wrapping both arms around Dark’s shoulders now, bracing yourself as he picks you up by the back of the thighs, lifting you and pinning you into place at the perfect angle to allow him access.

The blunt tip of the tentacle grinds against you. Oh, god. You want it. Weird and inhuman as it is, it doesn’t bother you at all. You  _want_  it.

It sinks into you, easing you open, and you tremble around him. It’s—it  _is_  longer than normal. It feels like he’s going to fill you up until you burst.

“Fuck, Dark…!”

“You asked for this. Take it all like a good little pet.”

He doesn’t stop until he’s buried all the way inside you, hips pressed against yours. The base of the tentacle is even wider, and it feels obscene with how wide you’re stretched to take him.

Your forehead rests against his, eyes glazed and face flushed, and all you can do is pant and moan.

Dark’s fingers tighten around your waist. That’s all the warning you get before he starts to move, pulling out halfway before slamming the tentacle back into you.

The pleasure makes you cry out, sharp spikes of it every time he thrusts inside you. It’s not just the way he’s fucking you, but the tentacle—it  _moves_. It writhes inside you, the muscles of it tensing and roiling and fucking grinding up against your inner walls in the most sinfully delicious ways. And when it finds your sweet spot—

You rock against Dark, helplessly moaning his name. Begging for him.

He groans in return, as lost in the pleasure of it as you are.

“Dark,” you sob. “Please. J-just a little more, feels so good, I’m gonna…”

Dark growls at that. You can feel the tentacle twitch inside you, the rhythm of his hips stuttering. He’s close too.

“Darling—” Dark begins, a warning tone in his voice.

“Please. Cum in me, I want it so bad.”

He huffs a short, breathless laugh, then hisses as he tries to hold himself back. “I don’t think you quite. Realise. What you’re asking for.”

He’s slowing. No, no.  _More_. You want him to keep going, you  _need_  it.

You squirm on the tentacle, clenching down around it. “I don’t care what kind of weird tentacle jizz it is! Does it have a knot? I can take it, just—please!”

Your teasing is getting to him; Dark thrusts up into you again in retribution, then bites down between your shoulder and neck.  _Hard_.

“And what about if I pumped you full of eggs?” he says.

He’s—serious.  _Oh_.

A shudder runs through you, breath catching and a helpless moan falling from your lips. The thought of it is fucked up and absolutely filthy, and it only turns you on even more.

Your voice is shaking. “ _Yes_.”

Maybe you should think this through some more, but need has already overridden your higher reasoning. You just want him, love him, need to be so full of him. And if that means eggs—well, that’s new, but you’re used to shit getting weird.

He picks up the pace again, the tentacle thrusting into you, and your moans are half pleasure, half relief. “Ohh, fuck. Dark…”

You don’t need much more. You were already on the edge, and having him fuck you like that, having the tentacle grind relentlessly against you—

You tense and quiver around him, fingers clawing into his shoulders as you helplessly let your orgasm wash through you and leave you a wreck for him.

Dark outright snarls, the animalistic sound making you gasp, and then he shoves you back even harder and holds you so firmly you can’t move at all. And then, still sensitive and caught up in your high, you  _feel_  it. He already had you stretched open so wide around the thickness of the tentacle, and it’s tight enough that the pulse of its muscle is palpable. The hardness as each egg passes through.

He fills you up, thick fluid to slick the way, and then. Just like he promised. Pumping you full of eggs, and you don’t even know what the fuck kind of tentacle dick it is he has that produces  _eggs_  but there’s a lot of them and you feel like you could burst.

Your face is bright red, shame and arousal mixed together into something heady. It feels more intense than is actually is – you’re full, so fucking full, but it’s not more than you can handle – but even so it’s enough that it’s just about visible. The slight bulge of your lower stomach as the eggs push against you from the inside.

“Fuck,” you mumble. “Fuck, fuck,  _fuck_.”

Finally, Dark’s tentacle slides free, and a gush of its sticky fluids pours down between your thighs. He kisses you, gently but insistently, as you tremble in the aftermath.

“Shit. That’s messy…”

Dark laughs quietly, as exhausted as you are, yet just as satisfied. He enjoys making a wreck of you. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He untangles your arms from him and allows you to lower your legs; your knees are still shaking.

“Don’t think I can walk,” you note distantly.

A low chuckle, and then Dark scoops you up.

You rest against him, letting your breathing even out as you try to find your thoughts again. After Dark thoroughly fucked them out of you.

“Hey, um.”

“What is it, dear?”

“…tentacle dick, huh?”

He quirks an eyebrow at you, amused. “A temporary anomaly.”

“But could you… make it happen again sometime? If you wanted to. Theoretically.”

Dark is silent on the matter for a very long while. Long enough for him to run a bath for you, fingers casually caressing against your hips while he waits. Then the picks you up and abruptly tosses you into the water. You shriek, sputtering and laughing.

He’s smirking, but trying to pretend he isn’t. “How about you ask again after you have to get all those eggs out.”

“…ah.”

Messy is maybe an understatement. But you’re still very much into the tentacle dick.

Sometimes, weird is the fucking best.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just pure fluff and smut. uwu

Imagine waking up in bed with Dark.

You’re curled on your side, and he’s spooned behind you. Still sleepy, only just having stirred, you feel the soft press of his lips against the back of your neck. Just brushing against your skin, gently nibbling, and you sigh and tilt your head to expose more of your throat for him.

He has an arm draped over your waist, and you can feel the firm lines of his body against yours. His chest pressed against your back, his hips against your ass.

He’s only wearing a pair of thin pyjama pants, and you can feel his cock very intimately pressed against you through the fabric, half-hard with morning wood.

“Mm,” you murmur in greeting. It’s too early for words. Too early to be awake at all, really. You reach for your phone to check the time; 5am.

But since you’re awake and already have the phone in your hand—

Dark is very distracting. You were going to try and check your messages, but his lips are being very insistent about playing with your throat. The hand draped over you slides beneath your sleep shirt, gradually inching it up as his caress shifts higher and higher.

You moan softly as he finds one of your nipples and rolls it beneath his fingers until it peaks for him.

“Ah, Dark…”

“Good morning, dear,” he says. His voice is even lower than usual, rough with sleep.

It’s getting really, really difficult to ignore his hardness pressing against you.

“Morning,” you reply weakly.

He cups your jaw and turns your head so he can claim your mouth as well.

You surrender to him, not awake enough to protest. Not that you’d want to. You love the way he’s curled against you, the way your bodies are pressed so close, the way he’s slowly, softly toying with you. So deliciously sensual.

Dark rolls you over a little further, so you’re on your stomach now. Both his hands trail up your side, hooking beneath your top and pulling it over your head.

He straddles the back of your thighs, laid out on top of you so his weight pins you against the bed. You can feel him even more obviously like this, growing harder as he explores you.

You squirm a little, heat starting to rise to your face. Biting your lip, you grind your hips down into the mattress, seeking a little friction to ease your growing arousal. Of course, he can feel the movement too. Dark hums something approving and grinds down against you in return.

Dark’s fingers hook into the waistband of your pyjama shorts; you raise your hips obligingly and let him pull them down your thighs before kicking them the rest of the way off yourself.

Yeah. This is definitely going where you think it’s going; now you’re naked and pinned to the bed beneath him, and—it’s 5am. You have time.

Dark’s lips are more insistent now, nipping at the back of your neck and down your spine. You shift, pushing back against his hardness, and whine softly.

“Such a good pet,” Dark praises lowly. “You’re so willing to let me use you just like this, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Please,” you agree distantly.

You still haven’t quite woken up yet, but you like it this way. Being sleepy, malleable, so easy for him to guide you and control you.

He spreads your thighs, just enough to give him space, and slides a hand between your legs. You moan as his fingers brush over you, rocking into the contact as much as you’re able to. Your movement is limited like this. But the sentiment it clear.

Dark keeps teasingly stroking you, his lips curled into a smirk as he presses them against your shoulder blade. “Even half-asleep, your body knows how to respond.”

“Nn, Dark…”

“Hush, dear. I’ll make sure you’re filled and fucked like the good little toy you are.”

His words make heat pulse through you, your cheeks burning as you bury your face into the pillow.

Dark pushes his sleep pants down, and then you can feel the hot, hard length of his cock directly against you. He rubs it between your legs, grinds against your entrance, until you groan needily for him.

“Yes, sir. Want you, need it, please,” you mumble, voice muffled. And then you moan deeply as he spreads your thighs a little wider and sinks into you from behind.

He’s laid out on top of you, all his weight pinning you helplessly down, while his cock slowly rocks into you. Murmuring pleasured approval as he enjoys your heat, the tightness of it.

It’s still slow, sleepy, sensual. All you can do is lie there and take him in a pleasured haze, little gasps and sighs escaping your lips as his thick cock strokes inside you and grinds against all your sensitive spots.

You writhe minutely beneath him, rocking your hips back to meet his thrusts as much as you can. Not much room like this. But you like that way; you love being trapped and helpless, completely covered and surrounded by him as he fills and fucks you just like promised.

“Dark,” you whine. You’re getting close, it feels so warm and so good, but you need… just a little more.

He chuckles darkly and slowly pulls out; before you have a chance to protest, he flips you over and settles you on your back, his hands braced on either side of your shoulders as he immediately sinks back into you. Your eyes roll back and you arch beneath him, arms instinctively flying up to wrap around his shoulders.

“ _Oh._ ”

Dark huffs a short laugh and kisses you, properly face to face for the first time. “Hello, dear,” he purrs.

“H-hello, sir…  _ah_.” You cut off into a moan as he thrusts into you.

Deeper now, a little harder. You have more room to shift your hips like this, meeting his thrusts at the perfect angle to have his cock hitting—right  _there_ , oh god, that’s so good. It’s so easy for him to turn you into a mewling, needy mess like this.

And it’s not much longer before he has you clenching down around his length, gasping his name as you come for him.

Dark isn’t far behind. The deep, guttural little growls he lets out, as he pounds his cock into you a few last times before stilling, make your hair stand on end. He comes buried deep inside you, eyes closed and cock bucking as he fills you up with his satisfaction.

You stay like that for several long minutes, panting and tangled together.

“Okay. Um. Wow,” you say shakily, grinning a little.

Dark lifts himself off you, bracing himself on his elbows instead and hovering over you. He leans down and kisses you again; he’s wearing a smug, satisfied smile by the time he finally pulls back.

“Good morning,” Dark repeats, and you laugh. It definitely is.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got an anon ask on my nsfw tumblr that just said "*slides in* dark fucking a winged reader, *slides out*".
> 
> I didn't _mean_ to write a small ficlet for it, but sometimes these things just happen.  >>

He likes the wings. You think it’s something to do with the imagery and implications of it; it’s like defiling a fallen angel, and, demon that Dark is, he viciously adores that idea.

Not that you’re anything close to an angel. The wings are more bird-like - a hummingbird, to be precise, in iridescent azure - and it’s a fae thing. Still.

Dark likes them. He likes toying with them, and using them to tease you. Sometimes when you’re in public, he’ll slide his hand up your spine; to any onlookers, in appears like nothing more than him affectionately touching your back, but he knows just where to touch beneath your glamour to have his fingers brush against the sensitive joint where your wings meet your shoulders. All it takes is a few slow rubs against the soft, downy feathers there to leave you flushed and breathless.

In the bedroom he’s even worse.

He collars you, cuffs your wrists and chains them to the headboard, and straddles across the back of your thighs so you can’t move.

His fingernails scrape down your sides, and you squirm beneath him, wings twitching weakly.

“Stay still, pet,” he murmurs. He takes one of your wings, running a firm hand along the length of it. It’s not overt, at first. He carefully cards his fingers through the feathers, gently correcting the ruffled ones, as if his only intent was preening your wings for you.

If that were his only intent, he wouldn’t be so damn sensual about it. It’s an intimate gesture at the best of times, but then he goes and grazes his teeth against the back of your neck and kisses down your spine as well, and you can’t help but moan softly.

His touch is gentle but insistent. Like a massage, in an odd way. Only he lingers over every sensitive spot, and he knows exactly how to make you fall apart beneath him. By the time he makes his way in to your scupular feathers, you’re putty in his hands.

“Dark,” you whine, rocking your hips back against him.

“Your wings are so sensitive,” he purrs. As if he doesn’t know. As if he doesn’t use that fact against you on a regular basis. As if he doesn’t revel in the way he can use it to control you, to make you completely fall apart for him.

That joint at your shoulders is such an erogenous zone. He digs his fingers in and you cry out, bucking beneath him. It sends heat flooding through you every time he does it, and he doesn’t stop until your head is spinning and you’re begging helplessly for him. 

He pins you down to the bed and sinks his hot, hard cock into you. So thick, stuffing you full. He rocks into you roughly, using your body for his own pleasure, but, fuck, it feels so good for you too.

Dark mutters rough praise, sometimes not even intelligible beneath the growl in his voice. He keeps toying with your wings, running his hands along them while his mouth presses hotly against the joint. He bites down, and you break.

You tremble and groan as you cum for him, pleasure wracking your body in heated waves. You groan again when Dark buries himself deep into you and stills, flooding you with his seed.

“Such a pretty little thing,” he says, low and panting with satisfaction. “You are all mine.”

His. He might take the collar off and undo your bindings once he’s finished, but you’re under no illusion that you’re free. You belong to him, and Dark is your cage.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just back on my vampire bullshit again.

Dark doesn’t even need to touch you to start with. He has those eyes that lock you into his gaze, and that deep voice dripping with charm. All he has to do is speak. Murmuring reassurances, and filthy promises, filling your head with white noise and that ringing in your ears until you can’t think. He’s so captivating. Hypnotic.

He smiles, baring the pointed tips of his fangs, but you can’t feel any fear anymore. Not like this.

His words, his touch as he caresses cold fingers against your cheek, make you want to squirm. Your face feels so warm. Too warm. His attention is so heady, and whatever this is - whatever he’s doing to you, whatever spell he has you under - has heat pulsing through you.

He lays you down on the bed and kisses you and you shiver beneath him.

Dark’s lips trail along your jaw and down to your throat, teasing the sensitive flesh there. Grazing his fangs over your pulse point until you buck and whine for him, and Dark chuckles.

He eases your thighs apart and settles between them, and you can’t help but rock your hips up against his.

“So needy for me, pet” he purrs, smirking.

Yes. You stare up at him with blank, glazed eyes, lips parted and silently begging.

He toys with you a little longer, enjoying how responsive you are to the teasing. So easy to drag you under his control. Because you’re so willing to surrender.

His hardness grinds against you, and his fangs press into your skin, and he has you feeling so hot and needy that you want all of it.

Dark’s cock finally sinking into you feels like heaven. So thick, stretching you open and stroking you inside in the most pleasurable way imaginable. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and moan.

And once you’re so full of him, his cock buried to the hilt inside your overheated, trembling form, he sinks his fangs into your throat as well.

Dark fucks you and feeds from you at the same time, and all you can do is cry out and arch beneath him.

Blood trickles down your throat as Dark feeds greedily from you, the hot pleasure-pain mixing with the sparks of lust searing through your veins with every thrust of his cock inside you. Using you, devouring you, ravaging you, but  _oh,_  god, you want it.

His blood-stained lips and crimson eyes are all you see as you cum for him.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _W O̡͜͝ R̶̡̧ ̨S̛ ̡H͏͝ ̷͘I̡͢͡ P ̷̕ ҉̧H͏͠ I͜ ͘M̷̢_

You’re going to drown in his eyes. In the endless black, an eternal, starless night sky.

You’re going to drown in his auras. In his power saturating your mind, the soft hum of static caressing against your skin and that low ringing in your ears.

You’re going to drown in him, and you love it.

Dark sits like an unholy god upon a throne of withered souls, and you want nothing more than to worship him. He deserves your worship. He demands it.

He caresses a finger along your jaw, hooking it beneath your chin and tilting your face to meet his gaze.

“What is it you want?” he asks softly, deeply. That smile says he already knows. That smile says he already has control.

“Let me worship you,” you plead.

“And how do you intend to do that?” 

He leans back, a smirk twisting his handsome face, and he tilts his head in silent permission.

Breathless, mindless, you slowly rise and crawl into his lap. You want nothing more than to worship him.

Your fingers tremble as you reach out, overwhelmed by the honour he has granted you. To be allowed to touch a god. You cup his face with the utmost reverence; tracing his high cheekbones, his lips, the soft stubble of his facial hair.

He looks so human, yet at the same time, so much not. Otherworldly, powerful. Ashen-grey skin that seems it could be carved from marble, yet yields under your touch. Those black eyes, surrounded by kohl, that look like they have seen the universe and claimed dominion over it. That look at you like they see the universe in you too.

You worship him with your touch and with your lips, placing the sweetest kisses against his face like an offering.

Your hands trail lower and loosen his tie, sliding it from around his neck and carefully draping it over the arm of his chair. His jacket too; you undo the buttons and carefully slide it from his shoulders. He does nothing to help, merely watching with distant fondness.

There’s a small moment of hesitation before you undo his shirt. Not that you doubt his permission; you doubt yourself. How can you possibly show an entity as powerful as Dark how devoted you are to him? Nothing you can do feels enough. But you strip him of his shirt as well, and your heart skips at the sight beneath.

He’s too perfect to be human. This is just a form created to serve him, but, god, it serves him well.

You graze your lips across his collarbones in a hot, open-mouthed kiss. Your fingers trail down his sides and trace the lines of his abdominals. Kiss him, touch him, love him with senseless adoration. And don’t stop until he sighs and shifts and makes a pleased, reverberating hum.

You lavish him with attention and affection, relishing in the opportunity he’s offered you.

Dark tangles his fingers into your hair, the quietest moan just about audible beneath his breath as you lick down the line of his hipbone. You follow it beneath the waistband of his trousers, kissing over the fabric. Lifting your eyes to Dark’s face again, you beg silently for permission as you nuzzle against his crotch.

“Pretty little pet,” he murmurs. “So obedient and needy. Go on then, take your fill. Show me how much you want your master.”

You want him. You want him so much.

You undo the zip of his trousers with your teeth then reverently peel away the fabric, every move so slow and purposeful. Like a ritual. When you kneel between thighs, it’s as a devout at their altar.

Heady and subservient, you kiss along his length. There are no thoughts in your mind beyond love him, serve him, worship him. His auras permeate your entire existence, wiping you clean. A blank slate for him to rewrite.

You take his cock into your mouth, and he smiles down at you like the wicked god he is.


End file.
